In the Lobby
by darkhelmetj
Summary: After their parents fail to return from a train ride during a vacation, the Tracy boys track them to a hospital and to a devastating monorail accident in the Swiss Alps. Response to the March challenge on Toreshii no Airando. COMPLETE Part I & II
1. Default Chapter

**Title:** In the Lobby

**Description:** After Jeff and Lucy Tracy disappear on a family vacation, Virgil and John find themselves as the lone guards in a hotel lobby while the other boys search for the missing couple. Movie-verse. Response to the March fan fiction challenge on Toreshii no Airando.

**Author:** darkhelmetj/stargirl

**Universe:** Movie-verse, though it could really be taken as that or TV-verse in terms of characterization.

**Archive:** Sure, just give me an e-mail and we can talk about it.

**Disclaimer:** The copyright to Thunderbirds is kept by Calrton, Universal Pictures, and Gerry Anderson. No profit is intended to be made from this story; it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

**A/N:** The challenge for March was to write a story where Virgil and John are trapped together. I decided to go a little bit less literal with this story, but the boys are most definitely trapped as you will see. This piece _is_ a companion piece to The Winds of Advent, and Part II leads into the very first chapter.

A _huge _thank-you is required for this story; I sent Ariel D Part I at the beginning of the week with a plea for it to be read for Friday. Not only did she finish it before Friday, but she finished it for Thursday so that I could officially have it posted before the contest deadline (since I can't seem to read dates properly and thought it was due for Friday . . . )! Thank-you.

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**December 2010**

**Part I  
****In the Lobby**

"They're late," declared Virgil Tracy, his hazel brown eyes darting in the direction of the hotel entrance with much suspicion. "Mom said they'd be back in time for us to go skiing."

"Uh huh." Standing beside his brother, eight-year-old Gordon frowned and gave the same resolute look. "And she said I could go snowboarding!" He looked sideways to his younger brother Alan, as if in hope that the four year old would give his argument some support. When that proved useless, he turned his head even further in an attempt to make eye contact with the other member of the family who shared Alan's mop of blonde hair. John, however, kept his eyes locked on the burgundy coloured carpet, and showed no sign that he had even noticed his brother's pleading gaze.

"Enough, guys." The eldest child's voice cut the argument cold. Glancing around at the bustling throng of people that occupied the hotel lobby, Scott Tracy bit his lower lip and thought for a long moment. "They're probably just delayed at the station. There're only so many monorail cars, and the resort is pretty busy right now with holiday traffic."

"Some holiday."

"Virgil, stop it!" Scott hissed, giving his younger brother a look that was suspiciously familiar. Though at the age of fourteen it was already obvious that Scott was a younger version of his father, he had inherited his mother's piercing blue eyes. He also, at the age of fourteen, knew how to use the icy gaze to his advantage.

Clamping his mouth shut, Virgil shook his head, an action that sent waves of mildly curly chestnut locks falling about his eyes. Though his eyes were a deep brown more akin to those of his father, he carried many facial features that were similar to Lucy Tracy. They were not always obvious at first, and only after careful consideration did a person see that the boy indeed looked a great deal like his mother.

And so, Scott Tracy found himself quite unable to fight with his younger brother any longer, for the slowly growing resemblance between the boy and mother was proving to be mildly unnerving. Scott was, after all, a typically obedient young man when it came to dealing with his parents, and he had no intention of talking rudely to his mother in any reincarnation. A different plan of action was needed, then.

"How about this," the older boy proposed, spreading his hands in front of him in a gesture that he had learned from his father. "I'll go and look for them out by the station. And," he looked towards his two younger brothers, Gordon and Alan, the latter of whom was now chewing ferociously on a large candy bar, "I'll take you two with me."

"Aw!" Wrinkling his nose, Gordon stomped his foot and glared at his brother. "Why do I have to go?"

"Don't you want to find Mom and Dad?"

The words worked like magic. As quickly as the red flush had appeared on the ginger-haired boy's face, it vanished. "Yeah! I wanna come with."

"Why do I have to stay?"

"Because!" Scott sighed in exasperation, "Virgil, Dad told me to look after you guys before he and Mom left before lunch. He said to stay in the room until four o'clock, and then to come down to the lobby to wait for him and Mom to return. And he said specifically to keep an eye on Gordon and Alan. So, they're coming with me."

"Great."

"But you need to stay here, in case Mom or Dad come back this way. If I don't find them in half an hour, then I'll come back too. Deal?"

Virgil thought for a moment, his eyes darting quickly to the thin and gawky boy that stood to his right. "John staying too?"

"You bet he is," Scott replied quickly, "because someone needs to keep an eye on _you._"

"What?" cried Virgil in exasperation. "I'm not eight, Scott!"

"No, you're ten. And Dad would kill me if I left you alone."

"He's not that much older than me!"

"Virgil!" Folding his arms across his chest, Scott sighed again and tried to fix his brother with the strongest glare he could manage. "It's not that you're immature, it's just that . . ." His eyes also trailed in the direction of the sandy haired boy, twelve years old and looking all for the world like he wanted to disappear. "Well, you know . . ."

Neither boy needed nor wanted to say what was running through both of their minds. There was no doubt as to how trustworthy John Tracy was. Both Scott and Virgil were, as young as they still were, willing to trust their lives with their quiet and introverted brother. But there was no doubt as to why John was willing to stay put in the hotel lobby.

"I think John would like to stay here," Scott finally admitted, trying to meet the blonde's gaze that was painfully directed towards the floor. "Right, John?"

After a long and drawn out silence, save for the noise of bustling patrons about the lobby, John tilted his head upward and gazed at his brother with an unwavering and quite unnerving gaze. "Sure," he finally muttered, shrugging his shoulders in apathy. "Whatever."

Knowing that he wouldn't get anything more from his brother, Scott simply nodded, took Gordon's shoulder in one hand and Alan's in the other, and began to direct the two in the direction of the door. "Stay right here, then. I'll be back in half an hour, all right? Virgil?"

"Sure." Looking the part of a man who had been beaten and was too tired to get up, Virgil threw his hands up in the air and replied, "Try and hurry, okay? I still wanna go skiing one last time before Dad decides it's time to go home."

"All right, I'll hurry." Hand on the hotel door, Scott turned his head and glanced at his brothers once more before he left. "Stay out of trouble."

Ten seconds. That was all it took, John noted methodically, before Virgil started bouncing from foot to foot in exasperation. Already it seemed the boy couldn't stay still; whether that was due to a desire to not be left behind, or a desire to simply be doing _something_, John didn't know.

"Scott said to stay here."

Virgil immediately stopped his prancing as his brother spoke. "I'm not leaving. I'm just sick of standing here."

"Someone has to," John replied softly, his blue eyes quickly taking in the other men and women in the room. There were no familiar faces, only strange ones that glared back at him with a sullen indifference.

Ignoring his brother's words, Virgil made his way to a side of the room where an empty couch was available. He fell onto the packed cushions with a dull thud, and took to immediately drumming his fingers on his knee.

In the distance, a bellhop hurried by with a load of suitcases on a trolley; the metal wheels of the cart made a sharp grinding noise as it was pushed from the edge of the carpet onto the marble floor that composed much of the rear of the lobby. As quickly as the man appeared he was gone, only to be replaced by another and seemingly endless stream of employees and customers. Shadows of men and women drifted by on the stark cream walls, and distorted and twisted images of human beings seemed to cower in the polished glass of mirrors and windows.

Quickly feeling overwhelmed by the commotion, John followed closely behind Virgil, sitting down beside his brother on the side of the couch that was furthest away from human activity.

"Why do you do that?" Virgil asked after a moment, his fingers ceasing their motions long enough that he could wipe a loose strand of hair back behind his ear.

Knowing full well what his brother was talking about, John simply shrugged and countered, "Do what?"

"That." A finger was pointed in his general direction. "Y'know, act like everyone doesn't exist."

John bit his lip and tried to hold back the response that was trying to leave his mouth. He knew that Virgil knew exactly what the answer was - had been told it twice already, in fact, once by each parent - and was simply pushing the matter because he was angry and wanted to take out his frustrations on the nearest possible object.

"Why," he answered, after several minutes of contemplation, "do you sit there and do that little . . ." he struggled for the word, "_thing_ with your fingers?"

"I dunno." The younger boy shrugged. "Trying to keep my fingers in shape. Guess I'd like to be playing a piano." He frowned. "I'd rather be skiing right now, though." He glanced towards the doors of the hotel, where outside a soft layer of snow was falling. "Why is it that you don't talk to anyone?"

"I do. When something needs to be said." He glanced briefly at Virgil, wishing that his brother could take a page out of his book and stop asking awkward questions. "I don't otherwise . . . because talking doesn't do anything."

"Then why do you talk to Mom? Y'know, about stuff?"

The words stung, and John turned away from Virgil so that he looked towards the bustling activity in the lobby. Suddenly he felt very trapped by his own brother, and the horrendous and unending humdrum of movement was more appealing than continuing the conversation.

"I'm sorry," a softer, more controlled voice, apologized from behind. "John, I didn't mean it."

"It's all right," the older boy finally replied thickly. "No one ever does."

No one meant to misunderstand him. No one, or at least very few people, meant to comment on his quiet nature. No one thought to do anything about the already tall and gawky boy who sat at the back of the class, silently taking notes. No one bothered to try and understand him when he turned in a perfect test paper, or when he politely asked a question that was beyond their level of comprehension.

They didn't bother with him - and he, understanding how much his presence meant, had come to the conclusion that it didn't matter if he bothered with them. So many times he had wished he could change, and so many times already, in twelve years, he had discovered that change didn't come easy, or at all.

No one reached out, and he never gave any indication that they needed to. That was what hurt the most. No one tried to understand him. No one really wanted to.

Except . . .

"You're cool, John. Really."

It was a subtle reminder that there were those people out there who loved him. That much John knew and understood very well. But it was one thing to be loved, and another thing to be understood. On one degree he was very much blessed. On the other –

"It's all right, Virgil." He turned back to his brother and tried to give him a reassuring smile. "You don't have to pretend that I'm normal. You won't be the only one."

A momentary awkward silence gave way to Virgil's declaration, "It's all right. I don't mind." He returned the smile somewhat hesitantly. "D'you think they'll be back soon?"

"I honestly don't know." Unlike his brother, who had also showed symptoms of wanting to be directly involved with something, John had no qualms about sitting back and waiting for things to transpire. If something was beyond his control, then it was beyond his control. He would worry about his own task and make sure that he accomplished it to the best of his abilities. "But I'm going to stay here and wait."

The two sat silently then, watching as various families gathered their luggage, dragged crying children, paid their bills, and left the hotel. As the noise gradually impeached on his senses, John closed his eyes and tried to convince himself that he was hearing static from a radio. Radio kits were his passion, aside from the stargazing that he did every week with his mother, and the thought of being enclosed in something so familiar almost eliminated the feeling of unease that was working its way into his mind.

"They left fifteen minutes ago," Virgil finally spoke, his voice thick with boredom.

"They have fifteen left." Shaking himself from his thoughts, John continued, "So we can't do anything yet."

"Rats."

"Why don't you work on your piano piece? You know, the Minuet."

"On what piano?"

"Use your knee. You were doing it before."

Snorting at his brother, Virgil leaned his head against the back of the couch and looked at the ceiling. "You know, you have a weird sense of humour."

"I wasn't joking." Perhaps his brother wasn't too far off, though. It wasn't his sense of humour that was strange - it was the level of his thinking for a boy his age.

Thankfully, Virgil didn't pursue the topic. There was an advantage, John noted, to being stuck in a hotel lobby with the younger boy. Of any of the five Tracy children, he was the most subdued next to John and didn't always feel a need to be talking. The silence was refreshing.

_Thank you God, for little things . . ._

More minutes passed by, until Virgil was snoring lightly on the couch, exhausted from the previous week spent skiing, and John found himself immersed in the task of counting the number of crystals on the hanging chandelier. He didn't notice at first when a figure approached the couch. He didn't notice the two proceeding ones either, until one of them gave his shin a good hard kick with a snow boot.

"Hey!" Blinking his eyes so that his concentration broke, John suddenly became aware that three members of his family had returned.

"Sorry," Gordon mumbled, looking completely nonplussed and apologetic. "You were staring at the roof."

Rubbing his shin, John replied, "A simple greeting would have worked." He looked to Scott for confirmation, only to see in his brother's eyes an emotion that seemed to be raw fear. "Scott?"

Looking toward his sibling who was still fast asleep, Scott answered, "Wake up Virgil. We need to go."

No matter how hard he thought, John could not remember a single moment in his entire life when his older brother had looked so scared. The fear was almost tangible, and by the expressions on the faces of the two younger boys, Scott was carrying whatever knowledge it was that worried him inside of him.

"Where are they, Scott?"

Blue eyes met blue eyes, and a silent thought was shared between the two. It was a feeling of worry, a sense of concern, and a subtle nod in the direction of the other boys that suggested whatever had happened needed to be kept from the general consciousness.

"The train is delayed," he finally replied absently, and his voice was touched with a hint of hoarseness.

"Can we wait at the station, then," John asked quickly as he reached a hand and gently shook Virgil on the shoulder. When the younger boy groaned, he whispered, "Virgil, we're leaving."

"Not the station. No. Not the station."

All four other boys looked at their brother at that moment. "You talked to the conductor," Gordon suddenly put it. "What'd he say? Isn't the train coming in?"

From the level of his brother's waist, Alan looked up with his still toddler-like face and asked, "Scotty, you said we'd find Mommy. Mommy's not here."

"No, she's not," the older boy finally admitted, as crystalline tears began to pool in his eyes. "We have to go to the hospital. There's been an accident."

_FIN Part I_


	2. Part II In the Hospital

_Dislcaimer: Thunderbirds is the property of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, as well as Carlton and Universal. No profit is intended to be made from this story; it is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended, and none should be inferred.

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**Part II  
In the Hospital**

Scott truly did not know what to expect to find at the hospital. He had spoken briefly to the conductor at the station, and from the man had only been able to glean the knowledge that the train had been derailed and that the passengers had been taken to the small hospital that serviced the alpine skiing village. He didn't even know where the hospital was. Thankfully, the woman at the hotel desk had been both kind and knowledgeable and had arranged for a rented vehicle to pick Scott and his brothers up at the front doors and take them to the hospital.

"Are we there yet?"

Shaken from his reverie, Scott turned around from his place in the front of the car and glared at Gordon. "No. Just sit still and be quiet." He really hated to take a strip out of any of his siblings, but given the knowns and the unknowns of the situation, he felt that it was hardly a time to be joking around. Their parents could be seriously injured, or they could be fine - there was no way of knowing.

His face falling, Gordon folded his arms and stuck out his tongue at his brother. "Nyah!"

"Stop it!" The tone of his voice surprised even Scott, for he closed his mouth immediately when the words escaped. "Gordon, I'm . . . I'm sorry. I'm just worried."

Displaying a brief and temporary understanding beyond his age, Gordon held his brother's gaze for a moment, then shrugged and went back to picking at a bandage that was on his elbow. "Okay."

Silence finally regained, Scott turned back around and stared out the front windshield of the taxi. Whether he admitted it or not, Gordon understood the seriousness of the situation. They all did, for none of his brothers made any move to begin another conversation. The feeling of sick dread that had settled in Scott's stomach seemed to permeate the air itself. It wasn't a feeling that had to be discussed to be spread. It was just _there._

And then, quite abruptly, so were they.

"We're there, kid," the taxi driver said, breaking Scott's thoughts. "That'll be five of your American dollars."

* * *

The hospital, given its small size and relative obscurity to the rest of the skiing quarters, was extremely modern and well kept. A modest outside composed of a lodge style wood panelling gave way to a sharp and sparkling interior that spoke of cleanliness and an attention to detail. 

A nurse intercepted the Tracys at the door, taking Scott by the shoulder and leading him to a side desk offset from the main receptionist area.

"My name is Cherise," she explained in a thickly accented English. "The hotel contacted us to tell us that you were coming." When Scott didn't answer immediately, she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and continued, "You boys are very brave to come here on your own. You've handled this very well."

Before Scott could respond, he was interrupted by an unusually forthright John Tracy. His blue eyes radiating brightly underneath a loose lock of blond hair, he stepped up to the woman and took her in his gaze. "Where are our parents?" The words, though softspoken, were not lacking in strength. There was no doubt as to how serious the boy was. "I know you know."

The nurse glanced briefly at John, taking in the boy as if judging how to respond to him. Finally, she nodded and removed her hand from Scott's shoulder. "They are here at the hospital and are being treated right now. You'll be able to see them later."

"Bullshit."

Startled, Scott snapped around to look at his brother. "John!"

"Bullshit," the blond repeated, his voice rising in intensity. "Tell us what happened now."

"I'm not allowed to-"

"Tell me now."

Feeling the tension rise between the woman and his brother, Scott grabbed John hard on the arm and pulled him away from the nurse. "John, leave the woman alone! She can't do anything."

"Yes she can!" The younger boy spit back, panic seeping into his voice even as he spoke. "Scott, we don't know what happened to them! We don't know where they are. She does. Why can't she tell us, Scott; why can't she tell us?"

He had no answer to that, at least not one that John would accept. And in his own mind, Scott was beginning to agree with his brother. "We're just kids, John. She's not allowed to."

The words stopped John cold. He fell backwards from Scott, taking one step then another until the older boy was forced to let go of him. "No. No, Scott. I'm worried about them! Something's not right . . . Scott, I need to see Mom."

"John, they're probably okay! Listen, everything is just a mess. Give them time-"

"NO!" Shaking his head violently, an action that sent a pair of tears down his cheeks, John looked from Scott to the shocked faces of Virgil, Gordon, and Alan, until his eyes rested on the nurse. "She'd tell us, Scott, if they were fine. If they were fine, she'd _let us go see them!_"

How could he argue with that? It always seemed to happen that way in the movies, Scott thought, as he watched his brother try to control the hysteria that was threatening to overcome of him. In those shows, doctors and nurses were always kind to people when their relatives were in trouble. They'd try to be polite. They'd try to pretend that things were all right.

They'd act like nothing was wrong.

But something, inevitably, always was.

Always.

It was at that moment that John lost the battle that he was waging. With a stifled cry, he jumped from where he stood and sprinted down the long white entrance room. The nurse shouted in surprise and called for him to come back. The other nurses and workers in the room leapt to catch the boy but found their efforts thwarted as Scott barrelled after his brother, knocking a doctor in the face as the man tried to grab him around the shoulders.

From behind him, he could here Virgil yell, "Scott! John!"

He didn't have time to stop and respond. A quick glance behind him showed Scott that the doctors and nurses had stopped his brothers from following.

_Maybe it's better that way._ Why that thought entered his mind, Scott truly did not know. But he did not doubt the truth of it. As he followed his brother's lithe form into a side hallway, noting that John seemed to be following a growing crowd of snow soaked and grease stained people standing off to the side, he realised that the feeling that he had was not due to some made up sense of clairvoyance. No, the emotion that had flooded in to him as he had entered the hospital seemed to be emanating from the very patients themselves.

Fear and pain were everywhere.

A woman screamed as Scott took a corner and nearly ran into her. She jumped backwards, and grabbed a child below her whose hair was matted and covered in what appeared to be blood.

"There they are! Someone grab them!"

Ignoring the calls of the doctors, Scott turned another corner, praying that John, in his madness, had some idea of where he was going. As he slid around to the other corridor, he saw that his brother did seem to have sense of what he was doing. Having broken through the line of people waiting for rooms, he had entered the wing of the hospital that carried a plain sign declaring it to be, 'Critical Care'.

"John!"

Four rooms down the hallway, his brother was being held at the entrance way to a closed door room. One doctor had his arms behind his back, and a nurse - Cherise, by the looks of it - was trying to calm him by speaking to him.

"John!"

The second call caught the attention of the professionals. They turned in Scott's direction, and Cherise calmly announced, "That's him."

In a moment Scott was down the hall and standing in front of the group, his eyes locked on his brother who was currently trying to struggle out of the doctor's iron grip. His blue eyes were reddened with tears, and every motion that he made caused a gasp to escape from his mouth.

"You aren't in trouble," Cherise explained, still obviously in an attempt to bring some form of civility back to the blond haired boy. "We just can't let you in."

"Why?" Making no move to enter the room, Scott simply ignored the other staff and stared down the woman who seemed so intent on helping them. "Why can't you let us in?

"Because-" Cut off suddenly by the click of a door opening, Cherise turned as a doctor exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him. "Doctor?"

"Twenty minutes at the most." He offered no explanation to his words, only a vague nod in the direction of the two boys. "Likely less."

At the words, John moaned and went limp in the arms of the man who was holding him. It was all the doctor could do to keep the boy on his feet. "No. No."

Feeling as though his entire world had suddenly been derailed, Scott simply stared at Cherise in absolute horror. He couldn't put into words what he was feeling. It was impossible to. But there was something that needed to be said. Scott knew it, looking to his brother and seeing the absolute pain that he was in.

"Let us in, Cherise."

"I can't," she repeated, a hint of sympathy entering her voice. "You're underage, we'd need parental permission. We're not allowed-"

"Listen." Shaking his head in an attempt to ward off the emotion that was seeping into his voice, Scott pointed at John and then at the room. "Quit pretending that it's not happening. We know what's going on!" He couldn't hold back the anger from his tone. "We're not stupid . . . And if that's true . . ." Closing his eyes and clenching his fist at his side, he managed to finish, "Let us in. I don't care about your damn rules. Let us in!"

Quietly, Cherise turned to the doctor who held John and whispered something in Swiss.

"Please, Cherise," he continued, "please." He didn't have the strength to say what he wanted to say.

_Please, Cherise, let us see them. I don't know how he knows, but John thinks it's Mom. And Mom means everything to him. You can't make this better. It's already as bad as it could get._

_Let us go in._

From where he stood leaning against the doctor, John tilted his head slightly and looked up at the adults above him with a look that was purely a prayer. "Please."

The staff traded another set of comments in Swiss, then Cherise took John by the arm and helped him to stand completely upright. Wordlessly, the blond shoved off her help and stumbled towards the door. Whatever anger had possessed him earlier was now gone, and was replaced with a pained-looking determination.

Passing the nurse a quiet thank-you, Scott rushed forward, took his brother by the arm, and helped him the rest of the way towards the door. It was only several feet, but the burden that had been levelled on them both extended it to infinity.

Scott took a moment to wrap John's arm over his shoulder, not a hard act given that his brother was not struggling against him, then reached his other hand out to open the door. The metal of the handle was cold under his grip.

Then the door opened, and Scott helped his brother to take the single step needed into the room. Another, then another step, and soon the door was able to close behind them. As the metal clicked in place, Scott directed his attention to the haphazardly made bed in the centre of the room, and the worn looking and dirty figure seated next to it.

Somehow, he thought numbly as he walked forward with his brother, John had known.

Twenty minutes, the doctor had said. Perhaps less.

And then . . .

"I'm sorry, you can't be in here!"

Then, it was all over. But until then, until it was over . . .

"Dear God! Let them in, good Lord."

He had to keep standing.

"Sir, it could be emotionally traumatizing for them-"

"Could be? It already is! Dammit, man, their mother is dying! Don't you even care?"

Clutching his brother tight to him, Scott moved to the side of the bed, ignoring the words of the doctor and the pleas of his father, instead letting his eyes fall on the weakly smiling form lying on the bed.

And he knew, as he looked down at his mother and saw that she was indeed dying, that he had to stay strong, not just for himself but for his family.

"Dad, what's wrong with Mom? What happened; is she going to be all right?"

_She's dying, John. You know that. It's all right to be scared, though. I know it hurts you. It hurts me, too._

"She's leaving us."

_Tell him the truth, Dad. You're avoiding it too. But then, perhaps . . ._ "Oh God, no, Mom, no, don't go. Please don't go. We need you. I need you."

_Perhaps I'm avoiding it too._

"Oh God." The words barely escaped John's mouth before he fell against Scott again, sobbing so that his entire body shook.

Helpless, Scott simply stood in shock, supporting his brother with his shoulder. He couldn't make it better. How could he pretend that it would better? How could he believe that John was the only one that would be affected? How could he ever have thought that he would be untouched? How could he have thought that he would be strong enough?

There wasn't enough strength in the entire world to keep him standing now.

_God, Mom, I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

"Lucy, I love you." His face creasing in pain, a line of blood dried blood breaking and cracking as his eyes closed, Jeff Tracy leaned slowly down to the bed and lay his head against his wife's cheek. A second passed, then another, until a quiet sob escaped the man's lips.

"Lucy! Lucille!"

Then, from beside him, came a quiet whisper: "Scott."

Unable to think, unable to even feel beyond the numbness, Scott glanced down at his brother, whose head was buried in his older brother's shoulder, and whispered, "John, it's over."

"Scott . . ."

"It's over, John. She's not in pain anymore," he answered numbly, trying to give some form of comfort that he couldn't give. "It's okay, John."

But it wasn't okay.

Then he felt the arms of his father, not strong anymore but weak and shaking, around his shoulders, and he let the tears come. They stood by the bedside, three who had seen something they should not have seen, had experienced something that no one should experience.

"My boys," the older man finally whispered, his face wet with tears, his voice hoarse. "My boys."

Off to the side, the doctor looked on, waiting.

_FIN Part II

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**A/N:** When I checked my reviews for Part I, I saw that two people asked if I could continue on with the story. So I sat down one night, and in the space of about thirty minutes, wrote the entire text for Part II. Then I read it over, and realised that I couldn't post what I had. To me, it wasn't just Part II - it was a slice of the life of the Tracy's that was very emotional and extremely private. I didn't feel as though I'd written a sequel. I felt as though I were intruding on something real, even though every ounce of the text is completely fictional. I was worried that it went too far, that it showed something that wasn't appropriate in the realm of fiction.

Thank goodness for beta readers. :) I have to thank Ariel D for reading this, to start (I value your opinions on this chapter more than any other person's in the world), and for convincing me that it would be all right to post it. I still feel like a nosey journalist, but at least now I feel like one with a purpose. ;)

That said, if I've offended anyone by this, I apologise. It wasn't meant to be glamorous or sugar coated - it was meant to be realistic, and if I erred in some of my details it was not from a lack of trying. And it hurt me to write this as much as it likely hurt you to read it. But the good news is that where there's death there's always life. And, thankfully, we know the rest of the story from here on in. :)

Thanks go out to all who read or review this story. FAB, and take care.

darkhelmetj

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Note: Although in chapter one of the Winds of Advent Lucymakes silent reference to all of her children,only Scott and John are actually present in the room when she dies. This wasn't made clear in that chapter (as Lucy was disoriented and was not thinking directly about those actually present), which is why it was highlighted here. 


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